


Fantasy vs Reality

by LaughingStones



Series: God what even 'verse [3]
Category: Motorcity
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Management, Fantasizing, First Time, Friends to Lovers, I swear they get to the sex eventually, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panic Attacks, Pining, There's just a whole lot of anxiety to get past first, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Uh, so! I wondered if you would maybe want to sleep with me, sometime.”</p>
<p>It takes a few minutes for the words to even make sense, and then Chuck has to scramble to guess what they mean to Mike, because he sure as hell doesn't mean <em>that</em>.<br/> *<br/>Mike finds himself fantasizing about his best friend and finally realizes he wants Chuck. Now he just has to convince Chuck he's serious and seduce a nervous (if very willing) virgin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fantasy runs smooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike looks at Chuck, thinks about Chuck, and fantasizes about Chuck.
> 
> Chuck pretends (badly) not to want to do any of the above over Mike.

Mike has been watching Chuck, lately. Watching the lines of him, the ebb and flow of tension through his body, the way the taut hunch of his shoulders briefly eases, then comes back. Watching the intensity of the way his fingers move on his screens, dancing, driving, pounding through codes and maps and projections. Watching how he shoves his freckled hands through his hair when he's working something out, how he clutches it when he's frustrated.

Chuck is too self-conscious to be graceful, and Mike thinks there's something endearing in the way he knocks elbows and knees into things, yelps, apologizes. His long limbs seem a collection of gangly pieces barely under control, but when he relaxes or his mind is elsewhere they become less rebellious, briefly part of a fluid whole. As soon as he remembers himself he's back to banging his ankles, slamming his wrists.

He's the most raw-boned guy Mike's ever seen. Up in Deluxe plenty of the citizens are slender, but usually with a solid sheath of meat over their bones - KaneCo has an aesthetic the people are made to fit. Any Deluxian with a body too far to one side or the other of the look that's deemed healthy is sent to be altered, by pills or other means. Mike's only been down here for a little over a year, and he's still startled by the variety of shapes people are allowed to be. Chuck escaped the mandatory weight assessment when he fled, so he has no safe layer of fat and muscle to cushion his vulnerabilities. He's so skinny it's distracting, jutting wristbones and collarbones that claim Mike's attention, make him want to wrap Chuck in padding or kiss all his joints for protection. (He wishes protecting his people was actually that easy.)

*

Chuck tries not to see too much when he looks at Mike. He can't afford to dwell on any of it. (The straight line of broad shoulders, the leashed energy in every movement, the utter confidence in his stance.) It's easier not to see in the first place.

(Except he already saw before he knew not to look, it's been too late for ages now, he already knows everything.)

It's not that Mike is graceful, exactly, so much as he's physically adept. (Not that there's a visible difference between that and grace, it's just a more accurate description, okay?) His body does exactly what he wants it to do, apparently without effort. He never stumbles, never bumps into things, never misses a step no matter how fast he's going or through what obstacles. He can run through a jungle of pipes and wires and broken slabs of rock without setting a foot wrong, jump to swing through narrow gaps by one hand, leap chasms with never a doubt that he'll make it across.

(He moves like physical existence is a game and he was born knowing the cheat codes. He moves like someone who's memorized not only his own edges, but the edges of the world around him, so the two never collide.)

Chuck is aware that Mike is good-looking because of course he is, all the Burners are (well, except for Chuck). Julie and Dutch are both sleek and gorgeous in their own ways, all amazing hair and restrained curves of muscle. Texas is annoyingly attractive for someone who's built like a square-jawed wall. Of course Mike is no different, dark eyes warm, white teeth flashing in his grin. Chuck has pretty much stopped noticing by now, honestly.

(The sliver of smooth olive skin over rippling muscle that shows when Mike stretches and his shirt untucks and rides up under his open jacket goes unseen because Chuck doesn't look. He has mental images from before he knew better than to look, but he's trying to let them fade. He can't afford to keep them.)

*

Mike finds himself thinking about Chuck as well as watching him. They spend most of their time together, so it doesn't seem odd to think of him sometimes on the rare occasions he's not there, usually when Mike's alone in his room at night. He devotes most of his mental energy then to either going over recent missions, noting problems that came up and considering fixes, or thinking through possible plans of action to respond to Kane’s next attack, but he loses focus when he gets sleepy. That's when his mind starts replaying Chuck’s open mouth when he laughs, or panning over his long fingers flickering across a screen. The curve of his pale neck as he bends over a project with Dutch. The stretch of his mile-long legs.

He thinks about Chuck’s voice, the many pitches and tones of it, excited or resigned or strained or annoyed. Everything Chuck feels is right there in the noises he makes, unconcealed and vulnerable. He squeaks when he's startled, shrieks and whimpers when he's scared, gets loud and breathless when he's happy. Mike has heard him squawk and groan and sigh and scream. Chuck’s not always loud, but he’s always incredibly expressive.

Mike kinda has to wonder what he'd sound like in bed.

*

Chuck doesn't think about Mike. Ever. He's bad enough off as it is, you don't put a fire out by throwing gasoline on it.

(He doesn't think about his own clumsy hands on naked olive skin because that would be _stupid_. He also doesn't think about olive hands tracing over that same bare skin, finding familiar sweet spots, sliding over cut muscles and down - because Mike has to, right, every teenager does that, he only _seems_ untouchable and perfect, he's got to have needs, right? Anyway, Chuck doesn't think about that either, because it may be plausible, unlike the first scenario, but it's still a self-annihilatingly stupid thing to let himself focus on. Chuck will admit to being a lot of not-so-great things, but he's not an idiot and he's not self-destructive.)

(He doesn't wonder what Mike likes. He doesn't wonder what he sounds like, if he has to muffle himself like Chuck does or if staying quiet is no problem. He doesn't wonder how often or how long he can go.)

He doesn't think about it at all. (He used to, briefly, but he doesn't anymore.)

*

Then late one evening Mike's lying in his room thinking about Chuck’s hands and idly stroking a thumb back and forth along his jaw, and some wires must get crossed in his brain because suddenly it's like Chuck is touching him. It feels good, really nice, so he doesn't think twice about it, just runs his own hands over his chest and closes his eyes to imagine they're Chuck’s, pale and freckled and clever, imagines him leaning over Mike to touch, smiling shyly. That doesn't just feel nice, it gets him going _fast_ , man, he has his clothes off in seconds flat. One hand reaches down - and then he stops himself, because no, what would Chuckles do first? Probably not straight for the prize, right?

Right. Chuck would move more slowly, feel his way into it.

Maybe… kissing? God, that sounds nice. Mike could use some kissing. He can't kiss himself, though. What else?

Maybe just touching, at first, sort of testing out the territory. Chuck’s a cautious kind of guy.

Eyes closed, Mike runs a hand down the middle of his chest to his abs, hesitates like Chuck would, slides cautious fingertips over to a hipbone. Rubs over the thin skin there, takes a deep breath. What would Chuck say?

_So,_ nervous giggle _, what do you want me to do?_

And Mike would tell him, _Anything you want, Chuckles_. _Just don't tease me too long, yeah?_

Chuck would swallow and nod. _Got it._

And then he'd start running both hands over Mike, over his shoulders, down his chest, a hesitant brush across one nipple followed by playing with both of them, intrigued, (oh god yes), and probably kisses in between everything. (Assuming Chuck likes kissing. Mike's known some people who didn't.)

Keeping his eyes shut, Mike imagines the whole thing, letting his hands take orders from the imaginary Chuck. By the time one hand slides in from his hip to wrap cautiously around him, his breathing is ragged and he's having trouble concentrating. Would Chuck do any of this? He has no idea, but that's not the point. Right now, the point is that this feels really good, and it's happening in Mike's head, so it can go however he wants.

Imaginary Chuck is looking pretty flushed by now and he keeps biting his lip. (It's a _good_ look on him, too, oh _man_.) When his bangs part, Mike can see that his hazel eyes are wide, but in a totally different look than the usual _Oh god we're gonna die_ one. He raises his free hand and holds up a couple fingers. _Mikey, do you like - can I - ?_

_God, Chuck. Yeah. Lemme get ‘em wet for you._ Mike is breathing hard, open-mouthed to stay silent (not that anyone would probably hear him through the walls with all the ambient night-noise of Motorcity, but it's a solidly formed habit from living in the barracks). Two fingers slide between his lips (Chuck’s would be longer than his, have nails chewed shorter but ignore that) and he sucks them wet, lets them pull out again.

Imaginary Chuck is even darker red now, the freckles on his cheeks are almost hidden and he's panting, (he liked Mike sucking on his fingers, oh, oh god), but he doesn't let it stop him. He kneels between Mike's legs and keeps stroking with one spit-slick hand while the other slips down and - pushes in smooth and -

Oh _god - !_

When he's finished coming and can see straight again - and wow, it takes a while - he just flops there for a few minutes, thinking.

Chuck likes Claire, (not that that seems likely to go anywhere, poor guy), but Mike can't tell if he's interested in guys or not. As far as Mike knows, though, a lot of people are more flexible that way than you'd think, so he gives it at least a fifty-fifty chance. Might as well ask, then. It can't do any harm to just check, like hey, would you wanna sleep with me sometime? If Chuck says no, then no big deal, Mike will probably get over it quick enough (he hopes. Man, it'd suck to have a long-term unrequited thing for his best friend, who he spends _all his time_ with.) But Chuck could easily say yes, which would be _awesome._

Mike rolls off the bed and fetches a wet rag to clean himself up. He's not sure why it took him this long to notice that he wants Chuck, because it seems stupidly obvious at the moment, but now that he knows he's going to do something about it. He'll ask tomorrow.

*

Early on, Chuck let himself look, and he let himself think, and in no time at all he was staring and jumping and dropping things and just acting _weird_ around Mike. Who noticed, of course, and started trying to help Chuck be less twitchy all the time, which just made the whole thing worse because he was being so nice and so clueless and Chuck felt guilty in the first place because you're not supposed to fantasize about your friends. So he stopped. Stopped looking, stopped thinking that way, stopped everything. And what didn't die down by itself, he learned to ignore. He's gotten good at it, and he's proud of himself, because Mikey’s friendship is probably the most important thing in his life, and he would never want to mess it up.

(Chuck knows he would've messed it up, because while he's used to rejection, it still breaks him every time. Mike’s a really nice guy, he would've been as kind as possible, but a gentle no is still a no. And of course that's how it would've gone. Mike is gorgeous and brave and strong, a great leader, someone everyone can look up to, and Chuck’s a wimp with a falsetto shriek and a talent for programming. He's also not dumb, which is why he skipped the formalities. He knows how this works, he didn't need to test it. A guy like him would never have a chance with a guy like Mike.)


	2. Reality's a bumpy ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike asks Chuck if he wants to have sex with him. Chuck flails and sputters a lot.  
> ...and agrees, because who would turn down Mike Chilton?  
> Chuck is the most nervous virgin who's ever agreed to sleep with his hot crush/best friend. Fortunately, Mike's a patient guy.

When Chuck looks up from the screen he's been glued to for the past several hours, he’s startled to realize how late it is. Texas is sprawled out nearby, snoring faintly, Julie is long gone, and Dutch and Mike are playing Laser-Swords III with the sound turned down.

Chuck stretches and groans. “All right, guys, I think I'm done for the night. Have fun.”

“Oh,” Mike says, hitting pause. “Actually, I'll come with, I got a question for you.”

“Man, all you early birds shut down so quick,” Dutch says. “Come on, it's barely past midnight!”

Mike grins at him, claps him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. But hey, Texas would make a great painting like that, don't you think?”

Dutch gives Texas a jaundiced look. “Oh yeah,” he sighs. “Very inspirational.”

Mike drops a blanket over Texas before following Chuck up the stairs and down the short hall to his room. Chuck is mentally sorting through the various programs and improvements Mike might want to ask him about, getting ready to apologize if it's one of the ones he's stuck on. They walk in and Chuck flicks on the lights. Mike shuts the door behind him, which is kind of funny, because it's not like it matters if anyone overhears them talking about this, but whatever.

Chuck turns to find Mike leaning back against the door, smiling at him all warm and open, and for a moment his voice catches in his throat. Then he coughs and swallows and it's fine. He's fine. “So, uh, if it's about the improved tracking algorithm I'm really sorry, I just can't seem to--”

“No, no,” Mike shakes his head. “It's not that, Chuckles, you're good. Take as much time as you need, you'll figure it out. No, it's just, uh. I have a kind of random question for you.” He rubs the back of his head, eyes on the floor, looks up and smiles again.

Chuck blinks and stares. Of all the expressions he's seen on Mike's face, this one is unfamiliar. His smile looks excited, but he seems uncertain at the same time, which is crazy because Mikey is always sure of himself, that's just how he is. What the hell sort of question is he asking? “Okay?” Chuck says, squeaking a little. “Sure?”

A quick grin. “Great!” His eyes dip back to the floor, then return to Chuck. “Uh, so! I wondered if you would maybe want to sleep with me, sometime.”

It takes a few minutes for the words to even make sense, and then Chuck has to scramble to guess what they mean to _Mike,_ because he sure as hell doesn't mean _that_. “You mean, like, sleep over in your room? Sure, I mean--”

Mike is shaking his head, smile quirked sideways and amused. “No, come on, you know what I mean. Sleep with, like, have sex.”

Another minute goes by, and then Chuck steps to the side and sits carefully down on his bed before his knees drop him. “Have sex,” he says in disbelief, voice slid high like it always does when he's out of his depth and flailing. “You and me, have sex.”

Mike's smile gets smaller and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “That's… the idea, yeah.”

He's serious. This doesn't make any sense. Okay, maybe he just wants to get laid, and who with doesn't matter? Chuck frantically tries to think of any reason Mike might pick him over one of the other Burners, one that doesn't look like an upended mop. Sure, Chuck’s got a unique skill or two, but Mike doesn't need anything programmed or hacked in bed--oh. “Is it a role-playing thing? You want me to pretend to be someone else?”

Mike's smile drops off his face and he stares at Chuck. “What? No! What are you even talking about? Look, if you're not interested, just say that and we can forget about it, okay?”

“I'm just trying to figure out,” Chuck says very carefully, “why you're asking _me_.” He can't tell what the feeling in his chest is, hollow and aching with a familiar edge of panic, but he wants it to go away.

Mike is still staring, frowning under his bangs. “Because I want you,” he says, like it's the obvious answer, like admitting something like that is no big deal. (Like Mikey’s as reckless with his heart as he is with all the rest of him.)

(Hah, no, wrong figure of speech. That's making weird assumptions. No one's saying anything about hearts.)

Chuck has no clue what to say. ‘No you don't’ is probably a bad idea. He struggles with it for a minute as Mike's shoulders wind visibly tighter, finally comes out with “Why?” One word, and his voice still cracks.

Mike's expression softens, though, and he relaxes some, lips curving wryly. “I mean, lots of reasons, really. But I can't stop thinking about your hands.”

Chuck holds his hands up to stare at them like maybe someone exchanged them for another set while he wasn't looking. He realizes it looks kind of ridiculous and doesn't blame Mike for snorting, but this is too weird. There's nothing special about Chuck’s hands; they're broad and covered with freckles, have big knuckles that go red with cold in the winter, and he never needs to cut his nails because they're always chewed short, which Dutch insists is a disgusting habit. “...I don't get it.”

Mikey shrugs and nods. “Yeah, I know, dude. Probably most people don't notice what's sexy about themselves. Doesn't mean other people can't see it, right?”

Chuck drops his hands and stares at Mike wide-eyed, not that Mike can tell. “You think my hands are sexy?” The hollow feeling is slipping away, replaced by perfectly ordinary bewilderment and anxiety (because this isn't some bizarre game Mikey’s playing that's going to break Chuck, but things this good just don't happen to him. Something else has to be going on--is he dreaming? Hallucinating? Breathing some new bizarre Terra gas that shows you your fondest desires instead of your fears?)

Mike nods slowly, watching Chuck. “Yeeeah, I do. But I still don't know if that's okay with you or not.” He grins suddenly, throws his arms wide like he's putting himself on display. “What do you say, Chuckles? You wanna try it?”

Chuck swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says, and he only sounds a little breathless. “Okay.”

That easily the rest of the tension flows out of Mike and he's all cheerful bounce again, eyes bright. “Great! Wanna come back to my room?”

Still kind of stunned, Chuck takes a moment to register the question, then glances around, puzzled. Chuck’s room is usually the cleaner one, since Mike's reaction to getting away from the barracks was to break as many barracks regulations as he could, mostly involving neatness. Their beds are the same size, too, so Chuck’s not sure what the problem is. “You don't like it here?”

“No, it's fine! It's just, I thought it might be easier for you. If you decide you don't like it or something, you can leave and come back here instead of having to kick me out of your room. I don't want you to feel trapped, or like I'm pushing you into anything, okay? You need to feel safe,” he finishes quietly.

Chuck looks at him a minute, then away, tightening his lips. “I know I'm pathetic sometimes,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady and not let it climb any higher, “but I'm not _that_ much of a wimp, I know this isn't dangerous and I'm not gonna flip out and run away, I'm not _fragile_ \--”

“Chuck, I didn't say any of that!” Mike stares at him and lets out a breath, scrubbing a hand through sleek brown hair. “I don't think you're pathetic, or a wimp, or fragile, okay? I just think sex can be scary, that's all, and I want to help.”

Chuck holds up his bangs so he can stare back better. “ _You_ think it's scary? Mikey, you're not afraid of anything! Why would _sex_ be scary?”

“Hey, there are things I'm scared of.” Mike's smile doesn't quite make it to his eyes. “And there's plenty of reasons. You can be with somebody you don't know that well, and you don't know if they'll get pushy if you want to quit.” His gaze goes distant for a second. “Or maybe… someone you like a lot, and you feel like you can't say no or you'll disappoint them.”

The look on his face only lasts a second, but it's enough to give Chuck a feeling like vertigo. It sounds like he's speaking from personal experience but that kind of thing does _not_ , can't possibly happen to Mike, he's too confident, too strong. No one pushes Mike Chilton around. The thought of someone taking advantage of him is ridiculous. (Except if he liked and trusted them, it would almost be easy. Win Mike's trust and he'll do anything, go to any lengths for you. If someone realized that, used it against him, his strength and confidence wouldn't matter, would it.)

Then Mike shakes himself, shrugs and it's completely gone. The smile he gives Chuck has no hint of a shadow to it. It's enough to make Chuck wonder if he imagined the unsettling undertone entirely. “Or heck, maybe someone just does something you didn't expect and it startles you because you're new at this. I don't want to make you feel like that. I want you to be okay.”

God, those dark eyes. Chuck’s gaze drops. He can't look at Mike when his eyes have gone intense like that, all warmth and affection and care, not a hint of the disdain a guy like him should feel for a complete wimp. “I don't think you need to worry about that,” he mumbles. “Your driving scares me, but you don't.”

Instead of taking the obvious opening to make a crack at Chuck’s expense like anyone else would've, Mike just says, “Good, because I never want to.”

Chuck grins a little, because humor is easier than dealing with the way Mike is making him feel. There's the lingering distress over those implications (assuming that Chuck isn't reading too much into it--but how else can he interpret the way Mike said that? Chuck can't tell if he was meant to catch it or not, or if Mikey even noticed what he was saying. At least, judging by how easily he brushed it off, it doesn't seem to bother him much anymore?) More overwhelming, though, is a shivery, awed sensation winding through him, because it's like Mike wants to hold Chuck cupped in his hands and guard him from anything that might hurt him. The paradoxical feeling of vulnerability and utter safety is something Chuck absolutely can't handle right now. “Mikey, we're not going three hundred miles an hour and I'm not dangling from something flimsy at an insane height. This is practically tame for us!”

Mike grins back. “Tame, huh? We'll see what you think later!” He tilts his head, sobering a bit. “Seriously, though. You'll let me know if anything needs to change, right?”

Now that's just dumb. Chuck crosses his arms and looks up at him, unimpressed. “Out of everyone you know, name one person _less_ likely to stay quiet the first time something freaks them out even a little bit.”

Instead of reacting like a sane person reminded of this massive character flaw, _Oh that's right hey maybe this isn't the best choice for me_ , Mike laughs and relaxes as though it's a good thing. “Yeah, all right, but I'm taking you at your word. So. Here is good?”

Chuck blinks and looks around again, having almost forgotten what they were originally discussing. He nods. “Yeah, it's fine.”

“Okay, cool.” Mike steps up to the bed. “Mind if I sit?”

“Uh, I mean, no, go ahead.” He's never asked permission before when they've been hanging out in here. Why is he suddenly asking now?

He flops down beside Chuck, close enough they're almost touching. Oh. _That’s_ why. Abruptly reminded what they're actually getting ready to do, Chuck hunches his shoulders and stares fixedly at his knees. He can tell he's blushing already, every nerve attuned to the inch of distance between his thigh and Mike's.

“Hey,” Mike says in a lower tone. “Can I kiss you?”

Oh. Oh god. Oh god oh god, oh _hell._ That _would_ be the first thing he asks, of course it would. This is it, it's all come down to this moment, Chuck is being offered everything he wants, _Mike_ is offering to _have sex with him_ and Chuck is going to screw it up before it can even start. His heart is accelerating, it feels like it's going to pound its way right through his ribs and how is he supposed to explain this, what is he supposed to say, he _can't_ say no but--

Mike's hand lands on his shoulder and Chuck jerks, then hunches further. “Dude, all you have to say is no, it's fine,” Mike says. He doesn't sound annoyed, but Chuck can't tell if he's disappointed, which would be even worse.

“It's _not_ fine,” Chuck says miserably. “I _suck_ at kissing and you won't want to do this anymore if I say yes, but if I say no I'm rejecting you before we even--”

“Whoa, no, Chuckles, hold up!” Mike breaks in, shaking Chuck’s shoulder a little to get his attention. “You already said you wanted to try this, right? So unless you change your mind, you're not saying no to me, you're just saying no to a suggestion. I'm not gonna be offended or something, I just want to know what you're into. Okay?”

Rubbing his hands over his hot face, Chuck nods, not looking at him.

“Seriously, though, I'm not going to walk out just because you're not already an expert at this stuff. Not really why I'm here. It doesn't matter if you're skilled or not, I just want to kiss you, okay? Hey, if you think you're that bad at it, I could help you practice!”

“Practice?” Chuck lifts his head to stare. “Mikey, I can't practice with you!”

“Why not?”

“You're supposed to practice with someone where it doesn't really _matter_ if you mess up a lot.”

“Why would it matter with me? Come on, man, you know I won't give you a hard time.”

“Because--yeah,” Chuck sighs, “I know you wouldn't. Look, just--maybe later?” Maybe Mike will forget about it, or maybe if a miracle happens and this isn't a total disaster, they can actually try that at some point when Chuck won't immediately self-destruct from pure humiliation. (Because if Mike grimaces like Ruby did and says ‘Ugh, too much tongue!’ Chuck is pretty sure he'll die on the spot.)

Mike nods after a minute. “Okay, dude. Later’s fine. I'll be looking forward to it, okay?”

Of course he will. Chuck nods silently and rubs his face again, wondering if maybe he should just save time and die now.

Mike pats him on the shoulder. “Hey, just relax, okay? Let's see. How about the neck, can I kiss you there?”

That… actually doesn't sound so bad? Chuck nods again and then Mikey’s lips are on his neck right under his _ear_ oh god. He's just breathing against Chuck’s skin at first, and then he kisses the spot. Chuck shivers, smiles a little and waits for him to pull back so Chuck can exhale. Instead of pulling away, Mike moves a little lower and kisses there. His breath is hot and distracting and Chuck’s whole body is tense--it feels good but almost too much, which is stupid because he's enjoying this, he should want _more_. Mike moves down again and that's not a kiss, he's mouthing Chuck’s neck, soft and wet, and then he breathes on the damp skin and Chuck twitches all over and maybe sort of whimpers.

He feels Mike grin against him and then slide lower, his lips catch and seal and his tongue flicks over the new spot as Chuck gasps for breath. Mike's arm is behind him, holding Chuck up, and his other hand comes up to Chuck’s chest, stroking downward, and Chuck is surrounded by Mike, overwhelmed by him and it should be good but it's too much too fast.

“Oh god,” he says, wavering and high, “Mikey, I, wait, s-stop?”

Mike leans back to see his face, hand pulling away from him, though he's still practically in Chuck’s lap and way too close. “You all right? What's wrong?”

Chuck shakes his head, breathing hard. “I, I just, need a minute, if that's--”

“Whatever you need, buddy,” Mike says without hesitation.

“Sorry.” Chuck hunches over, arms across his chest, and tries to get his heart to slow down.

“You don't have to apologize,” Mike says, and leans back on his hands, which takes him out of Chuck’s personal space and makes it easier to breathe.

After a few minutes, Chuck recovers enough to feel sheepish. “Sorry, I didn't mean to--”

“Don't worry about it,” Mike says cheerfully. “You want to try more of that?”

Chuck winces. “Maybe not yet? I liked it!” he adds quickly. “It was just, kind of intense.”

To his surprise, Mike grins at him. “Good to know. All right, let's scale it back some.”

“And…” Chuck pauses, bites his lip.

“What? Dude, if you've got suggestions or requests, you have to let me know. You said you'd tell me if there was a problem.”

“It's not a _problem,_ ” Chuck says defensively. “It's just, I was only expecting one kiss. That was… kind of more.”

Mike blinks at him, opens his mouth and closes it again. “You're right,” he says, frowning. “I was kinda pushing, wasn't I? Sorry.” He ducks his head, runs a hand through his hair, and Chuck is torn between gratitude that he's listening and annoyance at himself for making this so complicated.

“Okay,” Mike says, nodding to himself, “so scale it back, slow down and check in. I can do that.” He looks at Chuck. “You okay to try something small?”

Still annoyed with himself, Chuck nods shortly, head lowered.

“Cool. Can I kiss you on the cheek?”

That startles him into looking over. Mike looks perfectly serious, and of course he's not the kind of guy who'd make fun of someone like that, but… Why? Cheek kisses are like, little kid stuff, not exactly sexy. When he said small, he apparently really meant it. “Sure?”

Mike smiles at him, leans over and nuzzles Chuck’s cheek, just sort of rubs his face up against Chuck’s, soft and warm, and it's a little funny but so friendly and affectionate that Chuck is smiling before he notices. Mike brushes his lips under a cheekbone, just below the edge of Chuck’s bangs and pulls away immediately, grins.

“I love your smile,” he says softly.

Chuck clears his throat, feeling that smile shrink. His heart is doing something bizarre in his chest, warm and aching at the same time. “You know you don't have to say things like that, I mean it's not like you have to seduce me or something, I'm already in.”

Mike frowns. “I'm not gonna lie to you, Chuck. I think you're amazing and I want to let you know. I'm not trying to seduce you.”

Chuck can only shake his head, feeling a weird combination of pleased and deeply uncomfortable. (It’s nice that Mike can say that stuff and believe it, but it doesn't make it true. Chuck is not amazing. There's nothing special about him. Mike just has the habit of projecting virtues onto his friends that they don't actually have. Like taking an innocent boast about driving abilities that technically didn't exist and expanding it into the wildly incorrect assumption that Chuck could not only drive, but cause his car to jump lava pits and do all the same insane things Mutt can do with Mike at the wheel. Just for a random example.)

(Mike is too exceptional himself to be any kind of accurate judge of other people's actual abilities and worth, is all Chuck’s saying.)

Mike nods, still frowning. “Okay,” he says. “I'll--I guess I'll keep it to myself.”

Chuck looks at his best friend's face, the tightness around his eyes, the unhappy pinch of his mouth, and groans aloud, burying his head in his hands. He's being such an ungrateful jerk, messing up everything Mike tries, not even letting him _say_ things. His chest is tight with shame and frustration. “I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm no good at this! I'm just screwing everything up, _god_. Look, just stop running things by me, okay? Just, just do what you want and I'll be fine, I always am!” He lifts his head, looks at Mike, who's staring at him. “I'm just slowing us down,” Chuck finishes.

Mike's eyes are wide as he shakes his head. “For such a smart guy, that's a really dumb idea. We just proved I need to check in with you _more_ , I'm not going to stop.”

“But I keep messing it up!”

“You're really not. This might sound weird coming from me, but not everything is about speed, okay? There are way more important things, especially doing this.”

“Yeah, but we're hardly even _doing_ this, thanks to me! We're never going to get anywhere like this!” Chuck waves his hands wildly in illustration, feeling a blush set in again. “I _know_ you want to get off tonight, okay, because so do I, and it's just not happening!”

Mike ducks his head and laughs quietly and Chuck goes a bit limp, because if he can still make Mikey laugh, he hasn't ruined everything forever yet. “Yeah,” Mike says, “but if it was just about getting off we could do that on our own. This is about trying something together and seeing how it goes, right? And you're seriously not messing things up, stop saying that.”

“Mikey,” Chuck starts in disagreement, and Mike cuts him off.

“No, I know you're not happy but shut up and let me explain. Okay. Look.” He holds up his hands and frowns at them, gesturing like movement can bring out the right words. “It's like… Okay, it's like this. Reality is better than fantasy, right? I mean,” he adds hastily as Chuck frowns, “you'd rather be here than _pretending_ we were doing this, right?”

Chuck almost chokes just at the thought. He still can't believe this is happening, that Mike is willing to try this with him. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and just lets himself sort of--tip over against Mikey, head on his shoulder, one hand fastening in the front of his jacket.

Mike breathes a laugh, arm going around Chuck. “Yeah,” he agrees. “And the way I see it, part of the difference between reality and fantasy is that in your head, everything goes exactly the way you want. It's predictable. Fantasy runs smooth and flat, but reality’s a ride over rough terrain, and you know which one of those _I_ think is more fun.”

Chuck starts to groan into his shoulder, stops to think about it, and finishes the groan. “I would say that explains why _you_ somehow don't seem to mind this while _I'm_ dying here, except in this metaphor I _am_ the rough terrain. Needs some work, bro.”

“Naw, it still works,” Mike insists. “I know you're frustrated, but try to relax, okay? Maybe you wish you were different, like some fantasy-Chuck, but I don't. I mean, fantasy-Chuck would probably have me naked with my legs over his shoulders by now, and let's be honest, that's a move out of a cheap porno. You're way more interesting.”

Oh…kay. Mikey really did just say that out loud, casually describe that... _vivid_ image. _Um._ Breathing very carefully, Chuck holds as still as he can manage, forehead pressed against Mike, hand now white-knuckled on his jacket. If he just ignores that suggestion, his bewildered hard-on might not make this more awkward than it already is.

Yeah no that is not an ignorable thing that Mike just said. “Your legs… over his shoulders?” Chuck says faintly.

“Uh. Maybe?”

“Ohmigod.” It comes out a kind of whining sigh, but seriously, no one could possibly blame him for being a bit overwhelmed by that image. In a good way, for once.

“I mean, that wasn't actually intended as a suggestion or anything, you don't have to do anything you don't--”

“You could _definitely_ get naked,” Chuck says into his shoulder. “I would be so okay with that.”

“Oh! Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sitting up, Chuck tugs on his jacket pointedly. If Mikey’s not giving up on him, Chuck won't give up yet either.

“Well okay then!” Mike stands up, pulls off his boots, and--okay, that's way faster than the strip tease Chuck was somehow expecting. There's a brief shower of clothing and oh god wow yes, Mike Chilton is naked in Chuck’s room. Even most of Chuck’s wet dreams don't go this well.

Chuck’s mouth is open and he has no idea where to put his eyes. They just sort of flicker up and down--more down than up--taking in… everything. He’s seen Mike before in swim trunks, but he was trying really hard not to look, and oh _man_ it's a totally different effect without the trunks. That's a lot of slender muscle, and a lot of broad shoulder, and abs and hips and thighs and um. _Um._

His hard-on isn't bewildered anymore, it's very clear on things, which is getting uncomfortable fast in these jeans but on the upside, Mike seems to be experiencing a certain amount of clarity as well. He's blushing slightly, Chuck realizes with a jolt in the pit of his stomach, a hint of rose showing on olive-brown cheeks.

“What about you?” Mike says, smiling. “You gonna join me?”

“Oh geez, uh...” Chuck looks away, arms folding nervously across his chest. “I dunno, Mikey, I mean, I don't look like you.”

“If I wanted to see me I'd look in a mirror. Chuck, I want to see _you._ I want to know where you've got freckles and if you've got any scars and… all of it, dude. I want to kiss you all over,” Mike says softly.

Biting his lip because oh my _god,_ Chuck reaches for the hem of his shirt, then hesitates.

“But, if you're not comfortable,” Mike starts with a bit of a sigh, and Chuck cuts him off.

“Shut up, I know I don't have to.” He can hear it; Mike's trying, but he's not that great an actor. It's got to be a strain being _this_ careful, _this_ patient, and even if he's not frustrated yet, he's going to be if things keep stalling out. Chuck won't blame him. Chuck’s pretty sick and tired of humoring his own stupid issues, and he's going to push through this right now no matter what the voice at the back of his head is shrieking. Mike isn't wearing anything, he's pretty much committed, he's not about to walk out because Chuck has the same build as a stick figure. “I don't _have_ to do anything,” Chuck says, “but I'm going to.”

“Chuckles,” Mike starts, and stops as Chuck strips off his shirt and drops it off the end of the bed. His hands go to the waist of his jeans and freeze. He needs to get his pants off except Mike is _right there,_ Mike will _see_ him (and even if he doesn't leave, he'll laugh; of course he will, Chuck is gawky and bony and ridiculous-looking). He's got to do this, though, Mike's already naked, Chuck can't just get shirtless and call it good, that's not right. His fingers move clumsily, undoing the top button, and then he tries to make them pull down the zipper and they won't move, his heart is in his throat, he's choking on it, he can't breathe. He struggles for air, hands fixed in place as he fights himself.

“Chuck! Oh my god, dude--” The bed shifts, dipping as Mike climbs on, and there's a hand on the bare skin of Chuck’s back, rubbing slowly. “Breathe, buddy,” Mikey says in his ear. “Come on, just, slow down. Take your hands away. You're good, okay?”

Chuck shakes his head, gasping for air. “No, I'm--sposed to--”

“No you're not,” Mike says firmly. “You did your part, you're good, stop pushing it, okay? Just keep breathing. I'm gonna hang out right here.”

Chuck feels like he's about to fray into pieces, just shatter and leave tiny shards of himself embedded in the walls. He manages a nod, moves his hands to fasten on the bedspread on either side of him, and stops thinking about Mike, about what they were trying to do and he keeps failing at, just--stops. He focuses on slowing and deepening his breaths until his heart slides back into his chest where it's supposed to be and stops shaking his body. He doesn't know how long it takes, but Mike's hand is on his back the whole time, warm and solid, grounding him. (Proving Mikey somehow still isn't mad, and he doesn't understand why not but god he's so grateful.)

Finally Chuck gets back to something like normal, with the addition of new levels of crippling shame and self-loathing. Bending over, he puts his face in his hands again. On the upside, his jeans aren't uncomfortable at all anymore. On the downside, he's doing a bangup job of getting _everything_ wrong tonight. He never realized it was possible to mess up this badly, but trying to have sex without even being able to take your pants off has got to be some kind of record.

“You feeling better, dude?”

“I'm fine,” he mumbles.

“Okay. Look, I think I've figured out the problem.”

“Oh yeah, me too!” Chuck says bitterly.

“Stoppit,” Mike says, sounding annoyed. “This is not your fault, okay?”

Chuck’s head jerks up and he looks over to loudly contradict this, because what planet has Mike been _on_ this whole time, but Mike is sitting farther back on the bed than he expected, almost behind Chuck. Briefly derailed, he says, “Why are you--?”

Mike blinks at him. “Oh. I just thought maybe all the naked wasn't really helping, so I got out of your face for a minute. I can put some clothes back on if you want--”

“No. You're fine,” Chuck says, and it's true. Mike being naked while Chuck’s allowed to look is amazing and sexy and he likes it a lot. It's Mike looking at _him_ that seems to be a problem. He sighs. “Bro, you really can't deny how much I'm screwing things up.”

“I really can,” Mike says with absolute confidence. His hands are up and gesturing again, he looks completely relaxed stark naked on Chuck’s bed, and even in the midst of his anger at himself Chuck is amazed all over again that this is really his life. “Look, we've just got the calibration wrong, is all,” Mike explains, and for a moment Chuck wonders when they changed topics back to improving Mutt.

Then Mike keeps going. “Okay, think of it like this: if we were cars, I'd be a tank. Nice heavy armor, pretty good weapons, turns kinda slow. _You'd_ be some kind of light-weight little thing that steers with a fingertip. Those pretty obviously need different handling, right? And I knew you weren't a tank, but I'm not used to worrying about hitting rocks and things, and it's doing a number on your undercarriage.”

Startled, Chuck snorts a half-laugh, helpless in the face of Mike's car metaphors. Mike grins at him.

“And it looks like you're trying to ignore that you're _not_ a tank because you think you're supposed to be one, or you think I'll get annoyed and walk out or something, so instead of braking you're slamming right into those rocks. You gotta cut that out, buddy.”

Chuck huffs at him. “I don't want to cut it out,” he snaps, “I want to stop being pathetic!”

“Hey!” Mike says, frowning. “You're not pathetic! You're not used to this and you're nervous, which isn't a problem. Just makes it a bit of a challenge. I like those, remember?”

Chuck only groans.

“Anyway, we need to recalibrate. You brake whenever you need to and try to stop giving yourself a hard time for it, I'll drive slower so you have time to navigate.”

Chuck is shaking his head before Mike's even finished. “You're already going slow, though, and my navigation still _sucks_ , Mikey. I don't… have any maps, here. I don't think that's gonna work.”

Mike opens his mouth, then bites his lip thoughtfully instead of arguing. “Huh. Okay, I'm definitely open to suggestions.”

Chuck thought he would have an answer. Mike always has new plans and backup strategies, he spins them up faster than Chuck can shoot them down, and there's always a workable one somewhere in there. But now he's watching Chuck, waiting patiently for a clever idea that's not coming. Chuck didn't mean to shut this down entirely, but he doesn't have a solution.

Scrubbing hands over his face, he wishes fiercely that he wasn't so _broken_ , that he could just make out like a normal teenager, just push Mike down and-- He stops breathing for a moment, hands still, then carefully lowers them to his lap and inhales. “Hey Mikey,” he says almost steadily. “What if we switch cars? So, instead of trying to drive whatever kind of vehicle I am, we, uh…”

“Try to drive my tank?” Mike finishes. Chuck glances over at him. He looks intrigued, head tilted as he thinks it over. “Put you behind the wheel?”

“Oh, no, you can keep driving--”

“Chuckles, it's not a real car,” Mike says, grinning. “You don't have to worry about crashing it.”

“Oh, I think I do!” Chuck says, high-voiced and flailing. “What if you don't like what I do?”

“Not an issue,” Mike says, waving that away. “I can always ask you to try something else, right? Don't worry, I'll help you navigate while you get used to how it drives, warn you away from, uh, cliff edges, or whatever. I won't make other suggestions unless you want them, though. No backseat driving.”

“You really think that'll work?”

“Sure, why not?”

Chuck can think of way too many answers to that, but then he thinks about how it's gone so far, how patient Mike's had to be with him. “Well, I guess it can't really go _worse_ ,” he realizes in disgust. “All right. I'll try.”

“Cool,” Mike says, leaning back on his hands, (which shows off his abs and draws the gaze lower and almost distracts Chuck from what he's saying). “So, what's first?”

“Okay,” Chuck says, tearing his eyes away. “Um.” He gets off the bed, gulps and says, “Lie down?”

“You got it,” Mike says cheerfully, scoots up a bit and flops down on his back. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Chuck says, breathless, and… that's all he's got. He's looking at Mike Chilton sprawled naked on his bed, and coherent thought seems to have run into some functionality issues. He knows he should be doing or saying something more, but everything is stalled out on _He's so_ hot _, why is he here?!_

Mike smiles up at him, then frowns a little and bites his lip. “Hey, I know I said I would leave everything up to you--”

“But navigation, right, sorry, what did I do? Should I not stare? I can stop!” Chuck says in a rush. He isn't sure he can, actually, but if he tries hard enough--

“No, dude, you're fine. You're staring?” Mike grins. “Hah, that's the thing, see, I can't tell. I just wondered if you'd mind pulling back your bangs so I can see your eyes.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can do that!” Chuck rummages around until he finds a couple of hair clips and uses them to get his bangs out of his face. He's pretty sure he looks ridiculous, but Mike doesn't seem to notice.

“Thanks!” He smiles at Chuck, lets out a contented breath. “I like your--uh, whoops,” he catches himself. “Right, no compliments. Sorry.”

Chuck laughs awkwardly, shrugs. “I'll give you that one.” There's a brief silence. Chuck’s eyes keep trying to slide down Mike's body and then he remembers Mike can tell where he's looking now and looks away, embarrassed.

“Dude,” Mike says. “You're allowed to look. I wouldn't be naked if I wasn't okay with you seeing me.”

Chuck glances up at him and Mike grins, then deliberately flicks his gaze lower on Chuck, openly checking him out. Aware of how little there is to check out, Chuck goes to fold his arms defensively over his bare chest, then stops himself. Swallowing, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and watches Mikey’s face.

Mike doesn't seem disappointed by what he sees. His eyes are hot and approving on Chuck’s skin, and though that makes no sense it's comforting. Well, uh, comforting is really the wrong word. Reassuring? Bewildering, but in a very hot way?

“You're in charge right now,” Mike says, “but I gotta say, anytime you want it to happen, I'm really looking forward to touching you.”

Chuck thinks about Mike's hands on him, touching everywhere on his presumably-naked body, and heat rises through him in a wave, followed closely by the leading edge of panic. Even the thought is almost too much. Being naked would be _way_ too much. And having Mike touch him like that...

“Not, um, right now, maybe?” he says, high-pitched and shaky.

“Course not. Sorry, didn't mean to push. You're the driver.” Mike folds his hands behind his head, which shifts his pectorals in a distracting way. “I'll stop grabbing the wheel. Just let me know if I need to do anything different.”

Chuck nods, licks his lips and sits down on the edge of the bed. Cautiously he reaches out and puts a hand on Mike's chest, just rests it there. Mike's eyelashes flutter and his lips part, which seems like a good reaction. Encouraged, Chuck strokes down his chest to his stomach, runs his fingers across the ridges of muscle there. This low on his body, it's hard to miss that Mike is _definitely_ already enjoying this, even though Chuck’s hardly doing anything, and that's encouraging too. He strokes down Mike's thigh, lower lip caught in his teeth, then slides his hand back up to rub his thumb over Mike's hipbone.

Mike’s breath catches, then he laughs once, shaking his head. Chuck freezes, very aware of how close his hand is to… things, and wonders how he screwed up this time. At least if Mike is laughing it doesn't look too bad?

“Should I…” he says, pulling back.

“No, heck no, you're good, buddy,” Mike says, grinning. He looks slightly abashed. “Sorry. It's nothing, really, I just, uh. That's pretty much what fantasy-Chuck did, that's all. I just didn't expect to be that accurate.”

Okay, these jeans are officially becoming painful again. The first time Mike mentioned ‘fantasy-Chuck’ it was easy to assume that he was speaking hypothetically. But this sounds more like Mikey actually-- “You fantasized about me?”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Uh, yeah?”

Okay. Okay, that's, that was not expected. Chuck takes a few breaths open-mouthed, dealing with the onslaught of arousal. Sure, Mikey said he couldn't stop thinking about Chuck’s hands, but that's not the same as _fantasy_ material. Chuck can't even fathom someone thinking sexy things about him in the first place, but the image flashes into his mind of Mike, doing exactly that. Lying on his own bed, maybe half-clothed, maybe naked, hands moving across his body as he thinks about _Chuck_ \--

“Whoa,” Mike says softly. Chuck gulps and stops staring blankly at Mike’s collarbone, realizes his hands are fisted in the bedspread and carefully unclenches them. “Dude, your eyes are so dark right now. Your pupils just got huge!”

“Yeah, there's a very simple explanation for that,” Chuck says shakily. “That would be because I am crazy levels of turned on right now.” He breathes in. “I thought fantasy-Chuck was all, like, forceful and smooth and stuff.”

“Nope,” Mike says, grinning again. “Come on, Chuckles, I know you a little better than that. Fantasy-Chuck was definitely into it, but he wasn't sure what he was doing, so he was moving kind of slowly. He asked what he should do and I told him whatever he wanted. So he did, he just spent a while sort of--exploring.”

“And... you imagined it that way because that's what you like, right?”

Mike's grin softens. “No, I mean, I liked it fine, but that wasn't really the point. I wanted it to be something like what you'd really do, so it'd be more real. Guess I got closer than I thought.”

Chuck rubs a hand over his face and shakes his head, feeling almost dazed. “I guess so.” ...Mike did say before that he wanted Chuck, but Chuck took that to mean that he was curious and willing to settle. But people don't fantasize about someone they're only settling for. Which means Mikey _actually wants_ him. This isn't just him being bored and horny or kindly humoring Chuck.

He wants _Chuck_. It's almost too much to take in. Chuck already knew Mike was crazy, and this is probably more evidence for that, (because why would you even think about Chuck when you could be with practically anyone in Motorcity and probably half of Deluxe), but he can't help but be thrilled about it. Mike wants him. It doesn't seem possible, but he _is_ lying naked on Chuck’s bed, letting Chuck touch him and being incredibly patient and careful with Chuck’s many issues, so the facts definitely support it.

...Also, now that Chuck thinks about it, maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to assume that Mike would sleep with someone without caring about it. That's probably a weird thing to assume about his best friend and he should feel bad about it as soon as he's done being ecstatic.

After a minute, he manages to get his way-too-wide grin under control. “So, did actually-fantasized fantasy-Chuck have any other good ideas I could maybe steal?”

Mike laughs. “What, you want to skip the exploring part and get right to the point?”

“I don't want to skip _anything_ ,” Chuck says firmly. “But since he was in your head, he has an obvious advantage over me, and since you're comparing us, that doesn't seem very fair.” He tries to look solemn.

“Chuck, hey, I'm not--” Mike starts, and then catches Chuck’s lips twitching up at the corners and relaxes. “Hah. Jerk. All right, you want me to tell you what to do?”

Chuck hesitates, thinking again of the image he'd gotten, Mike thinking of him and touching himself. “No,” he says slowly. “I want you to show me.”

Mike frowns. “Show you, like, touching you?”

“No. Touching yourself.” Chuck swallows. “Move your hands the way you like it and I'll follow you.”

Mike's eyes widen. “Oh. Huh.” He licks his lips. “Okay then, let's do it.” He brings one hand to his chest and it skims down to his abs, slides to one side of his hard-on and down his thigh, strokes back up a little way on the inside. Watching Chuck, he stops and drops his hand, waiting.

Chuck breathes in and follows the path Mike just traced, going down the other leg. Since he can reach further sitting here than Mike can lying down, he slides all the way to Mike's ankle, rubs a thumb up the inside of his calf. Eyes on Mike's face, he strokes slowly past his knee and up his inner thigh as high as he dares.

Mike's breathing a lot more deeply than he was, mouth open, and his eyes are half-lidded on Chuck’s. His hand comes up to his chest again, slides from one side to the other and stops, thumb rubbing back and forth over one nipple. Neck arching back against the pillow, he closes his eyes. It's a long moment before he drops his hand this time.

Chuck is trying hard not to whimper just watching him, and he's really going to have to do something about his jeans before long because _ow_. He draws one hand across Mike's chest, cautiously thumbs the other nipple. Mike's back arches, pressing up into the touch, so Chuck’s obviously doing it right, which makes it strange that Mike doesn't make any kind of appreciative noise, doesn't even sigh. He hasn't made a sound since he started touching himself, even his breathing is inaudible. Chuck was prepared for soft, muffled noises, but not complete silence.

Maybe he can do something about that. He keeps his thumb on that nipple, sliding over and around it just like Mike was, and runs his other hand over Mike's pecs to play with the other one. Mike’s open mouth pulls into a hazy, pleasure-drenched smile and his eyes flutter closed again, but he doesn't make any noise.

On the one hand, he doesn't _have_ to in order to convey that yeah, this is feeling really good, thanks. The way his body moves, lazily arching and shifting, does that pretty clearly. On the other, if they do ever get to the point where Mike is touching Chuck, the contrast is going to be incredibly embarrassing. Chuck isn't exactly a quiet person by nature.

He runs his hands down Mike's torso again, dipping down onto his inner thighs, which helpfully spread wider. Chuck breathes in and tries not to moan on the exhale. Yeah, if Mike keeps being this effortlessly sexy he won't even have to touch Chuck to get embarrassing noises out of him.

Chuck goes back to playing with Mike's nipples, wondering if it's too much and Mike will tell him to stop. Apparently not yet. Mike's eyes keep drifting open, staring dazedly at Chuck and closing again, and his face is soft and lit up with pleasure.

“Mikey,” Chuck says, and nibbles his lip, thinking about how to say it. “Um, you know no one's listening, right?”

Mike opens his eyes, gives Chuck that hot, hazy smile, blinks. “Hhhuh?”

God, he really needs to stop being so incredibly--sensual, turned on, _like this_ , Chuck can't take it. “You don't have to be so quiet. I can't even hear you breathing, it's kind of strange.”

Mike blinks again and then his eyes widen. “Oh,” he says, and yes, _finally_ , now that he's talking he can't completely control how he sounds; he's breathless and his voice keeps hitching. “Oh, so-orry, man. Got-- _hh_ \--used to being. Quiet. Up in the--before.”

As a cadet, Chuck translates. His fingers tweak, experimentally tug, and Mike's neck curves back as his mouth opens in a silent cry. Chuck’s throat dries into rust. “Really,” he says hoarsely. “How come?”

Mike laughs breathlessly, and Chuck wants a sound clip of that noise to keep him warm (or hot and panting, whatever) at night for the foreseeable future. “You k-kidding? Sharing a--a room with. Buncha oth-- _ah_ \--other guys, you don't want. Anyone knowing. What you're, _mh_ , up to. Otherwise you get-- _hh_ \--hhhecklers. Never get off aga-ain.”

Chuck nods vaguely, badly distracted from what Mike's saying by the way he's saying it. Even when he's panting and barely able to speak, the tiny gasps and breaks in his voice are so quiet, whispers and murmurs instead of full-voiced moans. Chuck is pretty sure that shouldn't make them more powerful, but he is _so turned on_ right now if he doesn't get his jeans open he thinks he's going to sprain something.

He pulls his hands away from Mike to get the zipper down, adjusts himself in his briefs, and looks back over to find Mike's heavy-lidded eyes on Chuck’s crotch.

“Man, Chuck,” Mike breathes, “I wanna get my mouth on you so much.”

Chuck manages not to choke, but it's a near thing. “Omigod,” he squeaks, “ _Mikey!_ ”

“Hm?” Mike looks up at him, smiles and stretches lazily, spine arching and curving from side to side.

“You can't just-- _god_ , you can't say stuff like that!”

Mike tilts his head to one side on the pillow. “Because it's too much, or because you like it?”

Chuck shakes his head and looks away, face burning. “Just--god,” he mutters.

“Guessing that means you like it, since you know I'd want you to tell me otherwise. So, wanna tell me why I should stop?”

Exasperated, Chuck throws his hands up, then takes the opportunity to put them back on all that bare skin, tracing over Mike's abs and up to his collarbone. “Because people don't say things like that!”

“That's not much of a-- _hh_ \--reason,” Mike says, voice catching as Chuck flicks a nipple. “You want me to stop, say so, but I've got plenty to say about things I want to do with you.”

Chuck pauses, staring at the smooth muscles under his hands. “Just don't make me feel guilty,” he says quick and low.

“What?” Mike's eyes are wide when Chuck glances at him. “Dude, no, don't feel guilty! I didn't mean I want to do it all right now, just that there's a lot I'm looking forward to. Whenever we get to it, seriously! Do I look like I'm complaining?” He waves down his body at the evidence and Chuck bites his lip not to snicker.

“I guess not. Um. Speaking of mouths. Can I put mine on you, or is that not--”

“Yes, that is definitely okay, you can absolutely do that,” Mike says fervently, and Chuck grins.

“Except I don't actually know what to do. What's sexy?”

“Pretty much anything you try, Chuckles. Remember what I was doing on your neck?”

Chuck nods, shivering slightly at the memory. “Okay. Just tell me if I get it wrong.”

“You're not gonna--” Mike starts, and cuts off when Chuck bends over him to breathe on one nipple. “Yeah,” he adds in a husky voice after a minute, “you definitely. God. Chuck.”

Chuck investigates the various effects of nuzzling, kissing, and breathing on each nipple in turn. (He honestly wants to do this all over Mike, but he's afraid of trying places that aren't sensitive enough. He already knows these bits are good, so they're a safe option.) When he experimentally mouths at one, a shudder goes through Mike.

“You could suck on that,” he says breathlessly. Chuck does and Mike’s muscles jump and flex with every twist of his tongue.

“God-- _mh_ \--Chuck. I want to-- _hh_ \--do this for you. I want. You d-down my throat. Want you to fffeel this good.”

Chuck pulls away to moan, “ _God,_ Mikey.” He drops his forehead to Mike’s chest, breathing hard.

“Yeah,” Mike says, hips shifting restlessly on the bed. “I want you in me, I want to suck on your fingers while you're there, I want to make you come so hard--”

“ _Mikey_ ,” Chuck chokes out. “Stop.”

Mike freezes. “What's wrong? Did I--”

“If you make me come just by talking about it,” Chuck says shakily, “I'll be too embarrassed to do anything else. Like, ever.” Good thing he's never minded this kind of ache, because wow, he's so hard it hurts.

Mike blows out a long breath and relaxes. “Dude. Don't worry me like that. Do you have any idea how hot that is?”

“No, because it's sad and pathetic, not hot,” Chuck says, rubbing both thumbs over Mike's nipples at once. If he stops talking Chuck wins, and if he argues in that breathless, stuttering voice, Chuck also wins. He leans over to fasten his mouth on the farther nipple.

Mike takes a minute, panting silently as he twitches under Chuck’s concentrated efforts. Then he says, “Think so? _Hh_ \--think about how-- _nh_ \--you'd feel. If it was me. And you'd just almo-- _ah_ \--almost talked me into c-coming. I bet-- _hh_ \--you'd be pretty pleased.”

Okay, Chuck has to admit that's a fair point, and he suspects that his rebuttal--that that's reasonable because Mike is sexy while Chuck is not--would not be well received. Instead of arguing, he switches to poking the other nipple with his tongue. Mike does a lot of tensing and shuddering in response.

After a while, Chuck slides a hand down Mike's inner thigh and strokes idly back and forth, barely avoiding brushing up against anything with his knuckles. Mike twitches hard.

“Chuck,” he says.

“Mm?”

“Glad you're--having fun, buddy. But, uh. You think we can-- _hahh_ \--maybe shift gears? Like, higher gear?”

Chuck bites back the immediate apology that springs to his lips. He reminds himself that yeah, Mike wants to come, and Chuck hasn't been getting him there because yeah, okay, he's _really enjoying_ this, but Mike hasn't exactly been complaining, has he. He would've said something earlier if he didn't like this. Right?

“Yeah, bro, we can do that. Um. You would've--I didn't spend too long on this, did I? I know you've been waiting--”

“No, s’fine. I-- _hh_ \--like it. Just. Ready now, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Chuck says, reassured. “Yeah, okay.” Hands going still, he sits up and looks down Mike's body. That hard-on is definitely looking a little desperate by now. Not like Chuck’s is feeling any better, he just doesn't mind. He always figures the more he wants it, the better it feels when he finally gets off. “Um, so, what were you thinking?”

Mike grins at him. “Well you know, if you want to change gears you have to--”

“Mikey I swear if you--”

“--grab the stick.”

Chuck rolls his eyes and huffs in the way that would normally blow his bangs out of his face. “Mik _eeeey!_ Yeah, and put in the clutch, how do I do that, huh?”

To his surprise, Mike’s eyes widen. “Uh. That would probably be your fingers.” His throat moves as he swallows. “In me. Which I kind of figured you wouldn't want to do yet, but if you did I would be really okay with that. I mean. Only _if_. It's obviously not exactly like a clutch, since it's not actually, y’know, required. Uh. Do you?”

Apparently Chuck’s body was keeping extra blood in reserve in case he needed to blush harder, and it has decided now is the appropriate time. His face is so hot he thinks his head might fall off. “Um,” he croaks. Oh god oh god oh god oh wow, that's. That's like, going really far? And it's incredibly hot (unbelievably, actually; Mike would let him, _wants_ him to do that, wasn't just saying that stuff earlier to turn him on, oh god, oh man) but it's also so... _intimate_. Sex is supposed to be intimate, sure, but that's a whole other level he's not sure he's ready for. “Maybe not… yet?”

“Yeah, okay, that's fine.” Mike nods, waves a hand down his body. “So, yeah, just the gearshift, then. If you want to do something with that.”

Chuck musters the will to roll his eyes again, then moves down the bed to be able to reach better. Okay, he's got one of these too, he knows how it works, this shouldn't be too tricky. Mikey might like different stuff, but he'll say if Chuck gets it wrong and then Chuck can fix it. Anyway, it can't be _too_ different, can it?

Cautiously, he reaches out and brushes the back of his knuckles along the object in question and Mike's whole body snaps taut, fingers digging into the bed. His mouth is open again as he gasps for breath, still in complete silence.

Chuck takes a breath to steady his voice because _god_ that's hot, and says, “Come on, Mikey, try to make a _little_ noise. You're so quiet it's kind of freaky.”

“S-sorry, man.” Mike lifts one hand in the air in a helpless gesture. “It doesn't really work. Just feels weird, making noise, it's distracting…” He bites his lip. “Dude, Chuckles, you're not just gonna tease me, are you?”

“No,” Chuck says. Right, time to do this for real. Standing up, he steps over to his nightstand as Mike makes a protesting sound. He grabs the appropriate tube from the top drawer, squeezes some onto his fingers, and drops the tube on the nightstand, readily accessible just in case.

When he sits again and strokes his hand carefully over Mike to get everything slick, Mike shudders and his eyes go round. “You've g-- _ah--_ got _lube?_ ”

“Uh, yeah?” Chuck blinks at him. “How do _you_ do it?”

“Lick my--hands?” They're staring at each other in bewilderment, Chuck’s hand holding still except for his thumb gently rubbing back and forth. “Lube takes--too much cleanup.”

Chuck shrugs. “This is water soluble. And flavored. I like it,” he says, and strokes once, cautiously.

Mike’s hips push into it and his eyes close. When they open, he lets out a startled laugh that's half breath. “Dude, why do you--hhhave flavored lube?”

“So it doesn't taste gross?” His blush _was_ finally fading, but now he feels it return. “I like, um, using my mouth.”

Mike's eyes widen. “On who? I thought--you weren't--”

Chuck glares through the rush of blood to his face. “On _me_ , okay? I know that's weird, but it feels really good sometimes, so I don't care!”

Mike is staring. “How do you--? You can't--you can _bend_ like that?”

“Yeah?”

Mike closes his eyes, bites his lip hard, and arches into Chuck’s hand. “God,” he says hoarsely. “I wanna--see that.”

Chuck swallows, wide eyes drinking in the living wet dream on his bed, writhing under his touch. It's definitely funny to hear Mikey say that about _him._ He strokes again, then starts the slow, careful rhythm he likes best himself. “You don't think it's weird?”

Mike shakes his head, eyes still closed, and takes a desperate breath. “S’hot. Chuck, please. Fa-aster? I'm losing it he-- _ahh_ \--here, buddy.”

Chuck can't help the whimper because _oh my god_ , but he speeds up. Mike's face is strained, frowning with his lip caught in his teeth, and his body is tense and twitching, jerking into Chuck’s movement.

“Harder,” he gasps, and Chuck can finally hear him breathing now, shuddering and rough. “Not so--gentle.”

That's more difficult, because how is Chuck supposed to judge his grip when it's not on him? He tightens his hold anyway, strokes fast and firm and hopes he's not hurting Mike.

It doesn't look like it. The tension in Mike's face has dissolved, eyes half-opening as he smiles, hot and dazed. His body still strains towards its goal, hips working, muscles taut, but Chuck’s finally doing it right, he's making Mike feel good.

He really wants to taste him. He has no idea if that's weird or okay, but man, he wants to put his mouth on that. “Hey,” he says shakily. “Can I try, uh, using my mouth?”

Mike's abs jump and he huffs like he's been punched--no, not just a breath; there's voice in it, the quietest moan Chuck’s ever heard. “Yeah,” he says. “ _Hhh_ \--go for it.”

Chuck licks his lips and leans down, sweeps his tongue over the tip. Fake raspberry flavor with bitter salt underneath, it doesn't taste much different than Chuck’s. He licks some more, trying not to hit himself in the mouth with his still-moving hand.

It's good. It's so good, working his tongue over Mike, hearing the harsh, shaky edge to his breathing. Chuck has always liked having things in his mouth, it's kind of a thing for him, and having it be _Mike_ \-- He keeps having to break off to breathe through his nose and focus on how humiliating it would be to come just from this. Can't do that, even if he's so ready he can feel the beat of his pulse in his hard-on.

Mike is gasping for breath, the muscles of his thighs shaking under Chuck’s free hand. Chuck keeps his other hand stroking fast, slides his lips down over the head and sucks, and Mike goes rigid, trembling. “Ch-Chuck,” he says in a near-whisper. “God. Chuck. C-careful, I--I'm go-- _ohh_. _God._ ”

He bucks, hands fisted in the bedspread, and Chuck pulls off and away in time to keep from getting it in his mouth or on his face, breathes carefully to not just follow him over the edge, keeps his hand moving until Mikey goes slack, shuddering in aftershocks. When his eyes open and eventually lose the dazed look, they fix on Chuck, and Chuck can't quite understand the expression on his face. Wide-eyed, lips parted--probably a good look? He can't be sure. Chewing on his lip, he pulls his hand away, wipes it absently on his jeans.

“Holy smokes, man,” Mike says. His chest is still heaving, gradually slowing.

“Was it… okay?”

Mike grins, incredulous. “You're joking, right? Chuckles, that was incredible. I, uh, think I might have hit your ceiling, I'll have to clean that up for you.”

Chuck snorts. “No you didn't. Really, though, it was good?” Reminded by the comment about cleanup, he leans down and grabs a tissue from the box he keeps under the bed, hands it over.

“Yeah,” Mike says. “Really, really good.” He swipes the tissue across his abs, waves a hand in the air. “Seriously, man, I thought you were _new_ at this stuff!”

“I am!” Chuck protests. “I only know what works for me, and obviously we like different things, it's not like I got it right first time!”

Mike leans over to drop the tissue on the floor. “Practically! Dude, you didn't even graze me with your teeth.”

“Uh… yeah? I don't like that, so I learned how not to do it. It's not that hard,” Chuck offers.

Mike runs a hand over his face and snorts. “Oh my god,” he says in an undertone. “I need to see that someday.”

Chuck blushes hard, runs a hand through his hair and then has to fix the clips holding back his bangs. He doesn't know what Mike thinks it looks like when Chuck is using his mouth on himself, but he's pretty sure the reality is way more awkward and weird-looking than Mike imagines. Explaining that kind of thing to Mikey never goes easily, though, so he grabs for a change of subject. “I should’ve known you'd like it fast,” he mutters. “I like it way slower than that. Going that hard hurts after a minute.”

Mike pushes himself up to sit, tilts his head. “Bet I could do that for you, slow and easy. If you wanna let me return the favor.”

Chuck hesitates.

“You don't even have to take off your pants, if you don't want to,” Mike offers. “Just tell me what you want, okay? You have to be comfortable.”

Chuck folds over with his face in his hands. “I feel so _stupid_.”

Mike puts a hand on his shoulder. “You're not stupid. What do you want?”

“...What you said?” Chuck says cautiously, and immediately overrules himself before Mike can be disappointed. “Except _no_ , forget it, that's just _dumb_.”

“Dude, it's not dumb! You're just kind of modest, and I knew that already. It's not a problem, okay?”

“You'd really be okay with that?” Chuck says, looking up at him sideways out from behind his hands. “Doing… that, with me still half-dressed?”

Mike laughs and shakes his head. “Man, of _course._ I get to touch you, make you come. What else do I need?”

“I thought you wanted me naked,” Chuck says, sitting back up and trying to pretend that simple statement wasn't enough to fluster him. Not that Mike should notice the difference since by this time Chuck is thoroughly pre-flustered.

“Well, yeah,” Mike says, “but I can wait. You'll get more comfortable eventually, and I'll get to see you then.”

Eventually. Like, some time in the future, because they'll be doing this again, this is actually a thing now. He could have maybe already inferred that by the fact that Mike _just said_ “someday” he wants to see Chuck doing, um, that thing, but somehow Chuck hadn't drawn the appropriate conclusion yet. He can't help the slightly giddy smile that sneaks onto his face.

“So,” Mike finishes. “You want me to suck you or use my hand? Or both?”

Chuck just stares open-mouthed for a second, smile falling away as his cheeks flood with heat for the millionth time tonight, then slaps his hands over his face again. “Oh my _god_ , Mikey,” he moans.

“Come on,” Mike says cheerfully, “you've got to be hurting by now. It's gonna fall off if we don't take care of it.”

“It's really not,” Chuck says. “Hand.” He can't think about Mike’s mouth on him yet. It's another thing that strikes him as way too intimate for their first time doing this together. The other way around didn't seem that way, but it's different somehow. 

“Cool,” Mike says. “So, you want to get that out?”

“Grab the lube,” Chuck says, dropping his gaze as anxiety surges to the fore again. He stands up with his back to Mike to tug his briefs down inside his jeans. Without looking up, he climbs across the bed to lean back against the wall, pulling his jeans wide open to frame his aching hard-on. He tries to stop worrying about what Mike will think of it, if it's ugly, too skinny, if he won't want to touch it anymore--

“Yeah,” Mike says in a tone of satisfaction, “that's what I'm talking about.” He moves to sit facing Chuck, almost in his lap, and when he glances up at Chuck and down again, his smile is pleased, not doubtful in the least. Chuck swallows and reminds himself not to be too loud, and then Mike wraps a slick hand around him and that goes out the window.

“ _Oh god_ ,” he squeaks, because it's really different to have someone else touching him, it's strange and intense and--“Mikey not so hard!”

Mike blinks at him, hand going still. “If I go any lighter I'll barely be touching you!”

“Yeah, and then I won't come in two seconds, which is a _good_ thing!” Chuck takes a deep breath, shivering as Mike loosens his grip, sliding his fingers up and down. “I, I like it to last a little while, you know?”

“This whole time hasn't been too long already?”

“You weren't touching me, that doesn't count.”

“Okay, man,” Mike says, shaking his head. “ _I_ was hurting like fifteen minutes ago, I wouldn't have been able to hold out this long, but I guess it's different for you. Whatever you want, just let me know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I _nngh… Haahhh..._ ”

Mike is clearly still working out how to keep his grip loose and stroke at the same time, so his hand keeps sort of stuttering, going firm and loosening again. Weirdly enough, it feels really good, or maybe it's just that Mikey’s the one doing it. Chuck is already making an embarrassing amount of noise, anyway.

Mike’s legs are bent straddling Chuck’s thighs, and he's still naked, and he's really close. Chuck keeps staring and blushing and trying to look at something less, um, riveting than all that bare skin. Mike’s other hand is on Chuck’s knee, warm even through his jeans, and he has no such inhibitions; his eyes are all over Chuck. When Chuck gasps and whimpers particularly loudly, they go half-lidded and hot.

“You all right there, buddy?” he says, and Chuck would normally think it was ridiculous to describe Mike's voice as sultry, but right now it's low and hot and incredibly sexy and Chuck is having issues even thinking, so sultry it is.

“Ye-eaha _haaahh_ ,” Chuck says.

“You sure this isn't too slow?”

Chuck’s eyes go wide. It feels so good and he's really enjoying it but if Mike's getting bored--

“S-sorry,” he gasps. “‘m I ta-- _nngh!_ Aha _aanh,_ taking too long?”

Mike smiles at him, wide and slow and actually that's more of a smirk, oh god. “No such thing, Chuckles. So long as you're good, I'm good.” He leans in and says in Chuck’s ear, “You look so good, dude, you sound so hot, I could just keep doing this. We could stay here all night, me touching you all soft like this, you making as much sexy noise as you can, because god, Chuck, you sound _amazing_ , I love it.”

Chuck whines, because it is absolutely not fair for Mike to be saying things like _we could stay here all night_ while Chuck is doing his best to make this last. Despite the sentiment, it's _way_ too hot to be helpful--!

“Ahh, man,” Mike sighs, “you're so sexy. Just looking at you is turning me on again. _Listening_ to you is so good, you've got no idea. Don't shake your head at me, what, you don't think I know what I'm talking about? Dude, I've heard some sex noises, okay? And believe me, yours are incredible.” Mike's voice has dropped low, close and private between them. “You're not trying to hide anything, put up a front, you're just totally honest about how good you feel. Do you have any _idea_ how hot that is.”

On the one hand, Chuck wishes Mike would quit talking about how loud he is, how out of control, because he _knows_ , okay? He's noisy and wimpy and pathetic, he shrieks and squeaks and whimpers _all the time_ and he's never been proud of it, it's never a good thing; he's pretty sure that goes for in bed as much as any other place. And on the _other_ hand, Mike sounds _really certain_. Well no, not just that, he sounds certain all the time, even when he's making crazy suggestions, but. The way he's watching Chuck, like those dark eyes could drink him like water. The look on his face, like every sound Chuck makes is a hot caress over Mike's skin. It's like he seriously thinks Chuck is _sexy_ for making the same wimpy high-pitched noises he always makes.

If he was making them on purpose it might be different, but it's as involuntary as ever. Even if Mike likes it, Chuck can't really... take credit for it?

Mike's hand twists on him, thumb rubbing over a sweet spot, and a wavering, breathy cry comes out of Chuck. Mike closes his eyes, biting his lip for a moment. “ _God,_ ” he mutters. “Chuck. Can I--kiss you, kiss your neck, your chest, just get my mouth on you? I wanna make you feel so good, man, I want you moaning my name.”

“ _Mike_ oh my _god_ ,” Chuck whimpers.

“Yeah, Chuckles, like that,” Mike says, and twists his hand again.

Chuck flails and grabs for his shoulders, clinging as he pants, “Oh god oh god oh god oh god--”

“Can I? Is it okay?” Mike says, and how is Chuck supposed to say no when he's being so careful and so kind and he's so hot and Chuck really doesn't actually want to say no, he wants Mike's mouth on him again even if it makes this go way too fast.

“Yeah,” he says, shaky and high. “Yeah, g-go fffo _oohhhh god!_ ” Tongue on his _earlobe_ that is not a _kiss_ , Mike!

The one that lands just below on his neck is a kiss, and then another below that, and then a hot wet sucking kiss that has him clamping his eyes shut and making soft desperate sounds. Then Mike reaches his collarbone and _bites_ , sharp hot sweet pain and Chuck’s eyes fly open.

“Mike _stop_ ,” he gasps, and Mike's hand pauses, he pulls away wide-eyed and alarmed, mouth opening-- “No it's fine!” he cuts him off, voice high and tight. “Too--too much, I was, gonna…” He stops trying and just breathes, trying to come down from that edge.

Mike blinks and takes a minute to absorb that, then relaxes. He smiles. “Really, biting?”

“Apparently,” Chuck squeaks.

“Cool,” Mike says. “Didn't actually mean to, I just got a little carried away. I'm glad you're okay with it.”

“Maybe _limit_ the biting,” Chuck says breathlessly, finally getting tenuous control of himself. “Since, you know, I'm trying to last longer than another five seconds here.”

“Dude, you've already lasted way longer than I did,” Mike points out. “You don't have to hold out or try to prove anything here.”

“I know,” Chuck says. His hips twitch restlessly all on their own and Mike starts moving his hand again. “Ah! I s-said, I-- _nngh--_ like it to take a _ahahahhhh…_ a while.”

“Okay, man. Whatever you want,” Mike says, and leans back in to suck a mark onto the other side of Chuck’s collarbone.

“Mikey that's-- _ahhhhahh_ oh _geez_ \--” kinda close to biting, he was about to say, at least in how good it feels, and then just gives up. It’d be amazing to have Mike teasing him properly, making him wait again and again, but Mike obviously doesn't get that and Chuck can't possibly explain it to him right now, (or maybe ever). Honestly, this feels so good he might be okay not waiting much longer anyway.

Mike moves further down, kissing and sucking, neck bent at what looks like an uncomfortable angle. His moving hand below is still firmer than Chuck’s would be, getting him worked up again faster and farther and when Mike's mouth fastens around one nipple Chuck can't muffle the full-throated yelp in time. He slaps a hand over his mouth because _god_ he's so loud, Mike can put up with a lot but his patience has to wear out eventually. Mike straightens abruptly, free hand coming up to grab Chuck’s wrist.

“Dude. Don't,” he says, frowning. “I _just_ said how hot you are and how much I like listening to you.”

“Yeah, but _nnnhh!_ Not that lo-oud!” Chuck groans through his fingers. Mike tugs at his wrist and he reluctantly lets his hand drop.

“Yes that loud,” Mike says with a grin, “are you kidding? That was amazing! I want you,” he says in a lower voice, “to do that again, lots, only instead of just a sound it should be my name.”

Chuck stares for a second. Mike looks half excited and sort of wicked, and half like he's not quite sure he should be saying this, sheepish and uncertain. Chuck really can't handle any part of that look right now. “Oh god,” he says faintly, closing his eyes. _You're crazy, my noise is obnoxious, I don't get why you like it so much_ \--he can't say any of that, there's no point arguing. “I don't-- _nnnhh_ \--know ‘f I _can_ ,” he says instead, shivering.

Mike ducks back down to his chest, leaves a suckmark right next to Chuck’s nipple so he groans. “Wasn't saying you _had_ to,” he says against Chuck’s skin, “just that I'd like it if you did. But don't worry about it, okay? Not important. You feeling good is important.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Chuck says, biting down on his lip. Just like Mike to put his own wants second to Chuck’s, but to have him say it straight out makes Chuck feel so--safe. Cared for. Incredibly turned on, like he wasn't already. “ _Mmmhh_ \--Mike,” he gasps, just to say it, and shudders when Mike hums approvingly against him.

He's breathing hard again already, hips trembling and twitching up into Mike's hand, which goes firmer in response and speeds up, which makes Chuck pant and whine louder. “Oh god Mikey-- _ah! Ahaaahh nhh!_ I--I'm getting _ahh!_ ”

“Close, yeah, I know buddy,” Mike breathes, moving up to nip at his collarbone. Chuck yelps more quietly this time and groans. “I love it,” Mike says, nuzzling his neck. “I love you like this, just coming apart for me, you're so sexy, god, you're amazing--oh, wait a-- Hang on, you didn't wanna--you want me to stop again?”

The question has Chuck whining loud with startlement, eyes rolling back in his head, hips jolting out of control for a second. Mike doesn't even get it and he's still trying to do Chuck’s weird thing because it's what Chuck wants. _God_. “No!” he pants. “No, I'll, I'll _hnnn ah, a-ahhha_ oh _god_ Mikey _please--_ ”

“You got it, Chuckles,” Mike says in his ear. “Just let me know what you need.”

Chuck is far enough gone that he barely hesitates. “Fingers,” he gasps, eyes closed. “Y-your fingers, m- _ahhh hah--_ my mouth?” Then the second thoughts catch up, of course; oh god is that weird, that's probably weird--

Mike _groans_. “Yeah,” he says, sounding kind of breathless himself, “you bet, dude. Here.”

Two fingers slide into Chuck’s open mouth and he seals his lips around them, sucks desperately and goes hurtling over the edge.

Floating on the other side an indeterminate period of time later, he's vaguely aware of the bed shifting around as Mike moves, but post-orgasmic bliss is enough to chill out even Chuck’s anxiety for a bit, so he stays slumped against the wall and doesn't open his eyes. The bed shifts again and he feels Mike settle next to him, drape an arm across Chuck’s shoulders. Sighing, he leans into it, into Mike, solid and warm beside him.

“God,” Mike says softly. “That was amazing. You're amazing.”

“Ngrmf,” Chuck replies, a not-quite-protesting grumble.

“Seriously, man, that was so hot. Especially that last bit, wow. I mean, you looked like you were so close for so long and then you just--mmf?”

Chuck keeps his hand over Mike's mouth for a minute before letting it fall. “Shhh, shuttup.” He doesn't need to hear about how easily he came and how weird the reason was, thanks, he just wants to float here quietly for a while.

“But--what, why--I mean, you liked everything, right?”

“Om’god, Mikey,” Chuck mumbles, “‘at’s such a dumb question. The dumbest. _Yeah_ I liked... I… _loved it_ ,” he finishes very quietly, and burrows into Mike a little more.

Mike sighs and Chuck can hear him smiling. “That's good. That's really good, I wanted it to be good for you. Just took a minute to figure out how. Well, I mean, you told me how. You’re the genius.”

“Mmf,” Chuck says, trying to bite back the smile he always gets when Mike calls him that.

“And hey, you turned out to navigate just fine after all!” Mike adds, and Chuck can't help snickering even as he rolls his eyes.

Mike hands him a tissue and Chuck is still fuzzy and contented enough that he doesn't go into a spiral of self-doubt and uncertainty over being messy and having to clean himself up while Mike is still right here, just blushes and does it. Endorphins are amazing. Then he wriggles enough to get his briefs up and tucks himself in, leaving his jeans open for the moment because screw it.

They just sit for a while, leaning into each other warm and comfortable in the small hours of the morning. It's nice. It's really nice, it's almost like--okay no it pretty much is cuddling, the way their heads are bent together. They're cuddling, and not only is Mike fine with it, Mike totally started it, the way Mike starts everything. His arm is around Chuck, who's sort of curled against him, and everything is gentle and affectionate and wonderful. Mike is cuddling him, and Mike had sex with him, and he's probably going to do it again sometime. Mike is so great.

Chuck is definitely noticing the late hour; he's usually good about going to sleep before this because he's aware sleep deprivation and quick thinking save-our-lives hacking do not mix. The only time he's usually up this late is when he and Dutch are working together on something and they've got that synergy going where both of them are pulling each other to a higher level and everything just flows. He never notices the time when they hit that place. (A phenomenon that also happens with sex, apparently, because he definitely didn't think about the time until now. That's maaaybe a similarity he won't be mentioning to Dutch.)

Those nights can be weirdly euphoric, which probably explains why Chuck's thinking about them at the moment. He feels _good_ right now, and it's not a terribly common state for him. He's happy, and relaxed, and has a certain half-sheepish feeling of accomplishment. (He finally had sex! And the other person didn't walk out in disgust! And it was Mike! Who seems to somehow think Chuck wasn't horrible at this!)

He's not really sure why or how this happened, but there's an expanding ball of soft warmth in his chest and Mike is holding him close, breathing into his hair. Chuck could happily stay here forever. He could fall asleep just like this.

Although waking up in the morning would probably be hideously uncomfortable after sleeping against the wall, in his jeans, without any blankets. And Mikey probably wants to get to bed at some point tonight.

All right. Chuck can do this. It's not a big deal, it's not like this is his last chance to be this close to Mike, because Mike did say--

He did say, didn't he? Or did Chuck just want him to so much that he heard it even though Mike actually said no such thing?

He's frozen for a moment, and then he takes a breath and says, “Hey, did you say--” and stops. Coughing, he tries to bring his voice down to a less squeaky pitch.

“Say wha’,” Mike mumbles.

God, it sounds like he's already half-asleep right here. The warm soft feeling swells in Chuck’s chest and he smiles a little, then swallows. “You did say you, uh, might be okay doing this again, right?”

“Mm?” Mike takes a minute to answer and Chuck focuses on breathing deeply and carefully. “Oh,” Mike says then, sounding more awake, “no, buddy, there's no ‘might’ in there, and no ‘okay’ either; that's a ‘definitely want to’, and like, soon. I mean,” he laughs softly, “are you kidding me, you're interested and this was amazing, you think I can keep my hands off you after this? We're gonna have so much sex we'll probably both be limping.”

Chuck opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a whimper.

Mike turns to look at him and blinks at whatever’s on his face. “Uh. Assuming you're okay with that, obviously.”

“Ahahahahaahhh. Ah, yeah,” Chuck squeaks. “I'm okay with that.”

Mike smiles at him sweet and dopey and puts his head down again, arm tightening briefly around Chuck. “Cool,” he mumbles.

Smiling helplessly, Chuck lets out a shaky sigh. “Mikey, we can't sleep like this.”

Mike snuggles in harder, making a small grumbling noise.

The smile is pulling into a grin. “Really, bro, if you don't want to move that's fine, but we should at least get under the blankets.”

Mike grumbles again, then pauses. He lifts his head and blinks at Chuck again. “Wait, seriously?”

Chuck’s grin goes nervous and wobbly at the edges. “Seriously what?” he says, stalling. Seriously did he expect Mike to stay here tonight, seriously was he hoping to share a bed with him, seriously is he that clingy and pathetic--

“You're okay with me staying?” Mike says, dark eyes intent on Chuck’s.

Uncomfortable under that gaze, Chuck gives his head the usual quick shake to bring his bangs swinging over his eyes in a safe screen. He doesn't remember about the hair clips until nothing happens.

Mike's face changes. He pulls back, straightening up as Chuck opens his mouth to answer and pauses, confused. “Okay.” He smiles a little, awkward and strange. “I'll just grab my stuff and--”

“What? No!” Chuck abruptly realizes what happened and groans, putting up one hand to rub distractedly through his hair. He clenches a fistful and tugs. “No, Mike, that's not what I--” He can't, he can't, he needs his bangs down, it's not a lot of protection but it's something, he's not wearing a shirt and he's being an idiot and Mike isn't telepathic and this is horrible. “Wait a sec,” he says thinly, and undoes the clips. He gives his head a vicious shake, then fingercombs his bangs into a semblance of their usual order.

Mike watches, clearly puzzled but patient as ever.

Safely hidden, Chuck swallows and grabs Mike's wrist. “Stay,” he says.

Mike stills, completely focused on Chuck. Yeah, this is why he needed his bangs down; when Mike looks at him like this it's like being under a nice, concerned laser. “You sure?” he says. “It's okay if you need some space, dude--”

Chuck is shaking his head, meaning it this time. “I want you here,” he says in a small voice. “That way, when I wake up in the morning, I--you'll be here. And. I'll know this really happened.”

Mike relaxes all at once, the tension leaving his shoulders as he smiles. Looking at that smile is like staring into a bright light, but Chuck can't look away. “Yeah,” Mike says. “I know what you mean. I'm glad, I didn't really--I don't want to leave.” He raises a hand to brush fingers across Chuck’s cheek, which immediately heats with a blush because oh my _god_. That's--Chuck has no idea what to do with that much tenderness directed at him.

“Great!” he says, breathless and high. “So, bed! For sleeping! Omigod why does anyone ever let me talk, I just need to be quiet forever, why do you even put up with me, I have no--mmp!”

“Shh, buddy,” Mike says, laughing, and the hand over Chuck’s mouth pulls back to run gentle fingers over his lips before dropping away.

“ _Ah_ , ah, um,” Chuck says, and shuts his mouth, bright red.

“C’mon,” Mike says, stretching, and the way his muscles ripple and shift under his bare skin has Chuck riveted again. Mike claps him on the shoulder. “Let's get to bed.”

(Chuck expects to take forever to fall asleep. Mike is lying next to him in briefs and a t-shirt and Chuck isn't used to sleeping around anyone else and so much has happened and what does this really mean and--

Lulled by Mike's soft breathing, he passes out in minutes.)


End file.
